


Kidnapped

by Yuki009



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26754319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki009/pseuds/Yuki009
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

She knew what to do if the police ever came. They had practiced it often enough - early in the morning, in the middle of the night, or during dinner - until she could get to the trapdoor in the closet in under a minute from anywhere in the house. She was skillful and quick and she practiced a lot. When her father paused the stopwatch with the click and nodded approvingly, her chest felt warm and happy.  
She knew he was doing it all for her, and she knew how much the stress was getting on him. She saw the wrinkles at the corner of his eye, the first gray hair, the scalp, which was pink shining through the thinning blond hair. But he was still strong. She could count on him to protect her. They lived in the country, miles from the nearest house, and he said he could hear an approaching car as soon as it turned into their dirt road. Here he had taught her to shoot. How she had to stand to keep the .22 pistol steady in her hands. He said if the police ever came and he wasn't home, they had to shoot anyone who tried to stop them from getting to the trap door immediately. He had walked around the house with her and showed her every single weapon in its hiding place. He had each storage location pronounced aloud so that she could remember it better. “Under the sink. “In the dining room cupboard.” “Behind the books on the bookshelf.” She wasn't afraid. Her father was always at home. If anyone had to be shot, he would do it for her. The rain lashed against the thin panes of the farmhouse, but she felt safe. She was ready for bed, already wearing the nightgown with the giraffes on it, and a blanket around her shoulders. The scent of spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs - her favorite dish - still lingered in the air, along with the smell of the crackling fireplace. The dining table was cleared, and her mother disappeared into the kitchen. The game board was on the table and she and her father looked at their respective letter tiles. Every night after dinner they played Scrabble, it was part of their home schooling. because she didn't go to school. The fireplace in the living room flickered in warm orange tones, but they were playing at the dining room table. Her father said it was better for her posture. He took one of the wooden tiles and put it on the board. A "C". He grinned at her. She knew that look, she knew he had a good word. He put another tile. An "A". He was just about to put down the next tile when suddenly there was a loud knock on the front door. She saw the sudden fear on his face. His eyelids twitched. He dropped the plate. A "K".  
Her mother appeared in the kitchen door, a yellow dishcloth in her wet hands. Nobody moved. Like the moment when a picture is taken - that pause when everyone is waiting and trying not to blink.

“It's me, Yamaguchi,” a familiar voice called from outside, “The storm cracked a tree on my power line and the phone stopped working. Can I use yours to call the sheriff? ”Her parents exchanged a strained look. Then her father clenched his fists on the table and leaned over them. He didn't even notice that he knocked over his filing bench and that all his scrabble stones were scattered on the tablecloth. Her mother had embroidered the tablecloth with bluebells and lupins. Her father's K was right on a bellflower, right in front of her nose. The token alone was worth five points. "I want you to go to the side window next to the piano," said her father, in that serious, whispering voice he always used when she had to obey his instructions. He glanced at her mother for a moment, then ran his hands through his thin hair, which was so very different from her thick, dark, curly hair. “From there, you can see Yamaguchi's house downstairs, just across the lake. Tell me if there are any lights on. ”This wasn't practice. She could tell from the way her parents looked at each other. She wondered if she should be afraid, but when she listened to herself, she felt no signs of fear. Her father had taught her the importance of preparation. She calmly pushed the chair back, got up, let the covers fall, and walked with bare feet from the dining room to the living room. The fireplace cut an orange circle of light into the darkness. She crept past her mother's piano and stood between the instrument and the wall. Then she looked through the rain-streaked window into the black darkness. The cold penetrating from outside made her forget the fire. She stared hard in the direction her father had told her. But there was no light - just her own faint reflection. It glowed like extinguishing embers. Light, she announced. “It's all dark.” Her mother said her father's name, then gasped as if she was about to swallow it again. Her father cleared his throat. "I'll be there in a minute!" He called out to him, craning his head back to the dining room. She heard the scraping of the chair legs as he got up from the table to go over to the dining room cupboard and take the Colt from the drawer next to the silver cutlery. He tucked it into the back of the waistband of his jeans her mother had bought. Her mother walked slowly back into the kitchen. It was cold at the window. The pounding of rain against the pane sounded like fingertips tapping against it. The man knocked loudly on the front door again. She felt something hard in her hand. She was surprised to find that she was clutching the K-plate. She couldn't remember taking it. Her father picked up the blanket from the floor and brought it over to her. When he put it around her shoulders, she hid the scrabble token in her fist. She was ashamed of it and didn't want him to be disappointed because she had enjoyed it. He looked at her intently and got so close that she could could smell the tomato sauce with meatballs on his breath. "You stay here for now," he whispered in a broken voice. The firelight was reflected in his eyes. She gripped the scrabble stone even tighter, the corners digging into her palm. As her father walked through the living room to the front door, he reached for the gun at his back again, as if to make sure it was still there. He wore the beaded moccasins he'd bought the summer they lived in Osaka, which were handcrafted from real Comanche. The soles were made of animal skin, they were soft and made no noise when walking. When he stepped into the hallway, he left the living room door ajar, but did not look around again. She heard him open the front door and hear the aluminum fly screen creak and then slam. She heard her father's mock friendly voice and the pounding of Yamaguchi's boots on the doormat as he apologized again for the disturbance. She relaxed and loosened the grip she was using to hold the covers over her shoulders. She wouldn't have to run. The neighbor would make a quick call and they would go back to playing Scrabble. She leaned against the wall, felt the scrabble stone, and wondered how long she would have to wait here while the men continued to talk about the storm. The flicker of her reflection made her look up. She looked at herself in the curved window of the farmhouse. Her dark hair disappeared and all she saw was her face in the window, a glimmer of eyes and teeth. She went even closer until her nose was so close to the window that she felt the air grow colder. From this close she could see every tiny detail of her eyes. Every eyelash. Until the reflections began to blur and overlap. That was the moment when she looked at the light. Frightened, she took a step back and blinked. But when she opened her eyes again, it was still there. That wasn't a firelight. No reflection. She stared at the bright blurry spot down on the other side of the lake and tried, heart pounding, to figure it out. A lamp. They had also fitted such lamps on the outbuildings on their property with motion detectors, which were sometimes triggered by cats or raccoons passing by. One of them had her father removed the bulb because it always woke her up at night. The neighbor lied. He had electricity. She had to tell someone, but her father had told her to stay where she was. She looked at the kitchen door, but nothing of her mother could be seen. The men's voices continued to boom in the hallway - their father laughed a little too loudly. She heard the screen door slap in the wind. Daichi hadn't drawn it properly. The mosquito net would tear before the storm. It felt like a knot that someone was pulling tighter and tighter. Her insides tightened and all air escaped from her lungs. The screen door slammed. It sounded like a slap. She took a deep breath and filled her lungs so much that she was lifted onto her balls. The scrabble stone fell to the ground. And then she started running. The blanket waved like a cloak behind her as she hurried through the dark living room and threw open the door to the hall. Her father looked at her with wide eyes and open mouth. It was so big - if he picked her up, she could touch the ceiling. Yamaguchi had his back to her. He was just normal. He had taken off his wet boots and placed them neatly by the door. The wet raincoat hung over the clothes rack. Yamaguchi himself stood on the carpet and dried himself off with a towel that her father always kept by the door. "I saw light," she said, out of breath. Her father turned pale. The screen door slammed again, and then the front door slammed open like a clap of thunder. Her father stumbled backwards and the men crowded into the house. They didn't bother taking off their boots or dark jackets. Rainwater splashed around and she got all wet. The men shouted loudly and gave orders to their father, who had crouched in front of them. Someone tried to pull her back away from him. She screamed to be let go and her father picked up his revolver. But the men were armed too, and when they heard it, someone shouted, "Gun!" And the next moment the men had all their pistols raised at eye level. She realized that a pistol was aimed at her father from everywhere, who, with the Colt in his trembling hands, was sinking more and more at the foot of the stairs.

His eyes were full of despair, his eyes shone with tears. She had never seen him cry before, you could hear small and calls from the radios and it was loud and quiet at the same time, everyone was quiet, only the heavy breathing of the adults, the rain and the rattling front door. One of the men stepped in front of her. He was the first of the sick men from the FBI. The letters were printed in white from the back of their jackets. Federal Bureau of Investigation. State Police, Local Police, Department of Interior Security, Drug Administration, Interpol, Arms Administration Her father had taught her to tell them apart and which to fear the most. The FBI people, he had said, were the most terrifying of all. She had imagined that they had angry faces and eyes like goats. But this FBI agent looked very different. He was younger and shorter than her father, had brown hair. He looked very nice. But he spoke seriously to her father in a tone she had never heard anyone speak to her father before. His words cut the air: "FBI." "Search warrant." "Arrest." "Parole violation." "I didn't do anything," her father stammered. The brown-haired man walked slowly towards him until she couldn't see anything but the three letters on his back - FBI - and one of her father's moccasins.  
"Take it easy, Kai," said the brown haired guy. "We don't want anything to happen to the kid." She clawed her toes on the wooden floor. "Hands behind your head," said the brown haired guy, and then stepped aside. She watched in amazement as her father raised his arms and crossed his hands behind his head as if it wasn't the first time. Her father's colt was now in the hand of the guy, who handed it to one of the other men. She didn't understand. Her father had to get up. He had to show these men how strong he was. The guy cleared his throat. "I have a search warrant," he said again. Her father didn't answer. He sat hunched over and shivered all over. "How many people are there in the house?" Asked the FBI agent. She wished her father would look up and give her some direction, but he was looking around so frantically it seemed like he couldn't concentrate on anything long enough. One of the other men roughly pulled her father to his feet and handcuffed him. "You'd better start talking, Kai," he said. "You know what they do to people like you in prison." He grinned as he said it, like it was something to look forward to. "Not in front of the girl," said the brown haired man. Little red and black dots speckled the floor, pearls from her father's moccasins. Her skin felt like it was glowing, like it was flickering like a decrepit lightbulb.  
Another man led her father towards the kitchen. "So let's find a place to talk," he said, and pushed him. She wanted to call after him, but her mouth didn't seem to know how to form words. Her father shuffled away from her, his moccasins leaving a trail of pearls on the floor. "Find the woman," someone said. 

Inwardly she screamed, but outwardly she was completely motionless. Her feet seemed to have grown firmly to the ground, she watched three men who were searching for her mother. The word was stuck in her throat. She brought them into the house with guns drawn. The brown haired guy spoke into a radio. "We're in now," he said. “We had to intervene earlier. Still waiting for reinforcements. ”He glanced at her and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand. "We have a child here," he added. She forced herself to swallow. Yamaguchi pushed around the door. He was still in his socks and eyed her suspiciously. Her parents had always made sure that none of the neighbors saw her. If for any reason someone came by, she went into hiding. Strangers were never allowed into the house. She pressed the back of her head against the wall and listened for her father's voice. But the roaring storm and the roar of the radios overshadowed everything. The more she tried to hear something, the less she could tell the sounds apart. She wondered if her mother could escape through the back door. The brown haired was carrying his gun in his shoulder holster. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward until he was at eye level with her. "I'm from the police," he said. "You can call me Daichi." Her father was right. Adults lie. "You're an FBI agent," she corrected him. He looked at her in surprise. "O-kay," he said slowly. “You know about law enforcement. It's good. Very well. You can help me." He met her eyes. "You have to tell me your name." "I told you there was a child here," said Yamaguchi. It was all her fault. He had seen her. The back of her head hurt. She wanted to see her parents. She pulled her hand out from under the covers and let it run up the leg of the hall cupboard beside her. The FBI agent named Daichi held out his hand as if to put it on her shoulder, but then just ran a hand through his wet hair. "Are there any more kids here?" He asked. She was not allowed to answer such questions. He wanted to trick her, get her into trouble. "You're safe now," said Daichi. Her fingers felt the metal drawer handle. Top left. Then she let go of the covers. Daichi and Yamaguchi watched the blanket fall to the floor. When they looked up again, she was holding the pistol. "Goddamn shit," she heard Yamaguchi say. She put her feet up as her father had taught her and pointed the gun at Daichi.  
He was very still, but he didn't look like he was scared. "You're safe now," he said again. She was breathing hard. That made it hard to hold the gun, but the gun gave her courage. "I want to see my parents," she choked out. "We'll take you to them," said Daichi. She shook her head. He didn't understand her. "I want my mom and dad." Daichi's gun was still holstered. He made a small nod in Yamaguchi's direction. "Go out, sir," he said. Yamaguchi didn't move. She could feel his fear filling the room and all the oxygen. "Go," she said. He hadn't lost anything in the house anyway. Yamaguchi nodded, then dragged himself out. He put his boots on and left the house without his raincoat. Her hands were too small even to hold a .22 pistol. She had to use a special grip and put two fingers around the trigger. "What's your name, my little one?" Asked Daichi. "Hina Takahashi," she said. She could hear the FBI agents walking around upstairs in her parents' bedroom. "What's your real name?" He asked. Her skin prickled. "Hina Takahashi," she said again. She was startled by a sudden noise. It sounded like the screen door slamming, only louder. Suddenly it kicked her like a blow. She knew the sound from shooting practice with her father. That was a shot. It had sounded like he'd been fired from behind the house.

"Mother," she said. When Frank picked up the radio, she didn't argue, didn't tell him not to move. "What kind of shot was that?" He asked into the radio. "The Mother just blew her brain out," a voice replied through the rustling. The wind rattled the windows and the whole house shook. Suddenly she was very confused and no longer knew what to think. Everything inside of her screamed and she tried to suppress the writhing feelings that were desperately trying to get out. Daichi looked at her. She wanted him to stop. She thought the windows would burst any minute. The wind was so loud she heard it whistle through the walls. It thundered overhead. But it wasn't a normal thunder. It was a rhythmic noise that grew louder and louder. The hall lamp trembled. "They're helicopters," Daichi said over the noise. “The people from headquarters like to be in the spotlight. "Can I have the gun now?" She didn't know what to do. She wanted to give the gun to the man named Daichi. She wanted to let go. Then the living room door opened and her father reappeared. At the sight of him, all her complicated feelings evaporated. He had come to save her. He would be so proud of her for remembering where the gun was hidden. She would shoot Daichi for him. She would do exactly what he wanted. As she always had. All he had to do was nod and she would pull the trigger and shoot Daichi and then her father would get her out of here. Daichi had raised his hands. She looked her Father she would wait for the sign to kill Daichi, she would pull the trigger and shoot Daichi, but his gaze was lowered. Then she spotted the FBI agent behind her father. The FBI agent blushed when he saw that she had the gun pointed at his friend. He poked her father's back with his elbow so hard that he sagged. Fear spread through her. "Daddy?" She asked. But didn't answer. The FBI agent pointed his gun at her, and she looked straight into the black barrel. He was yelling around, calling out to the others, the men on the first floor. Her father was on his stomach, his cheek on the floor, his face turned away from her. "Put your gun down," growled the FBI agent named Daichi. She kept glancing at her father, but the pistol was still in her hands. The helicopters were so loud now that she couldn't think at all. It sounded like they were landing all around the house. Then the other men came down the stairs and approached her cautiously. "She's just a kid," said Daichi. "I'll be fine." She had to shoot. She had to shoot them all. "Daddy?" She asked desperately. This time her father raised his head. His face was red and sweaty, and his hands were still Handcuffed behind the back. But the look in his eyes was dangerous. "They killed your mother, Hina!" He yelled at her over the noise. "Self-destruction! Now! ”It was as if a switch had been turned. Her father had practiced it with her enough times. She let her body take over. She ran down the hall to the back of the house to the closet under the stairs, slipped in and through the secret door in the paneling, opened the trapdoor in the floor and climbed down the ladder with one hand - she followed with the other, the pistol still in her hand. The ladder vibrated as the men chased after her, slamming their heavy boots across the floor as she descended further into the darkness. She jumped from the fifth rung, her bare feet landed on the carpet, and then turned to the table with the computer on it, the aquarium screensaver being the only light in the room. She sat down in front of it, put the pistol on her lap, and felt in the desk drawer for the memory stick. A lionfish swam by. She put the stick in the computer, as her father had shown her. Then she hit the space bar. Immediately the fish were gone and a blue window appeared on the screen. She had never seen the blue box before, but she knew what to do. A white cursor blinked at the bottom of the window. She typed in a word: "Self-Destruct". Then she leaned back, pulled her knees to her chest, and waited. She heard the FBI agents arguing about each other. She knew they were about to come down the ladder and they would lock her up forever, but she didn't care. She had done what she had to. Finally the trap door opened and Daichi looked at her. She picked up the gun. "Can I come down, Hina?" He called. Behind him were more faces, huddled in the rectangle of light, looking at them. New people, the people from the helicopters. "I still have the gun," she called. "I just want to talk to you," Daichi said. He said something to the others, and then he swung himself over the edge and came down the ladder. She turned back to the blue screen. "It already happened," she said. “You can't help it." Daichi's feet hit the floor with a thud. She just hoped his shoes weren't too dirty. Her mother didn't like it when the carpet got dirty. Daichi stepped up next to her and looked at the screen. He had his hands on his hips. The words "Self-destruction ended" were reflected in his eyes. "You deleted the files?" Daichi asked, and she could hear him trying not to sound too annoyed. She made herself very small on the chair. The white of her nightgown looked blue in the light of the computer screen, and the giraffes were barely visible. It hadn't been fitting her for years. She stretched the hem over her knees. "Do you actually know what you've done just now", muttered Daichi. Then he moved so suddenly she thought he was going to hit her, but he just felt for the light switch. The basement film studio was lit up. There were four sets: a princess room, a classroom, a doctor's room, and an eerie dungeon. Every time they moved, Hina's father took apart each set and packed everything up. She wasn't allowed to touch the cameras. And she had to be careful not to trip over all the black cables on the floor. Daichi slowly turned back to her. Her father had said that people would look at her differently if they knew. He had said the adults would get angry. But Daichi didn't look angry. He looked a little scared, like she was a bomb that could explode at any moment if he didn't find out in time which cable to cut. "Agent Sawamura?" A man called from above. “Are you okay?" He asked because Daichi didn't answer right away. He'd probably never seen a movie set before. "Daichi?" Yelled the man from above. "We'll be right there," called Daichi. He looked from one set to another. "Then you can take a look at this," he added. The air in the cellar tasted moldy. The cellars always tasted like this. Daichi said nothing more. He just rubbed the back of his neck. "Is my mother still alive?" she asked. 

“I don't know who your mother is,” he replied, “Mei, she said. She wrapped the hem of her nightgown around her fingers. She knew about caliber sizes. The faster and heavier the bullet, the more damage it did. Some people survived being shot in the head. "I can tell when you're lying," she warned. "She's dead, Hina." She pulled on her nightgown and stretched the giraffes. "Oh," she said. Hot snot ran up her nose and her eyes burned, but she didn't cry. "She was nice. She couldn't have children."

“ Did they tell you that? ”Asked Daichi. "She took care of me," she said. Daichi knelt next to her chair so they could look into each other's eyes. "Can you tell me if there were any other children here?". His disheveled hair was wet from the rain. 

"I want to stay with him," she said. Daichi looked at her pained. "I am sure that your familie has never stopped looking for you,'' he said. She wondered if that was true. But his look was friendly. A dog barked outside. It wasn't hers. She didn't have a dog. She couldn't have one. "How old are you, Hina?" Daichi asked. "Ten." She considered. It was difficult for her to breathe. It felt like someone was squeezing her chest. "But ..." He raised his brown eyebrows and looked at her expectantly. The dog didn't stop barking. Or maybe it was just the screen door that slammed. She didn't know. Her skin felt very hot. "I had a dog once," she said when she remembered. Daichi didn't move. “What was his name?” 

“Monster.” Hot tears ran down her cheeks, and she shivered as the memories came back. She had worked so long to suppress them. It was liberating. "My old birthday was in April," she said, wiping her nose with her hand. “Kai changed it. Actually, I'm eleven already." Daichi narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. He was pretty close to her now, but not too close. "How long have you lived with Kai?" She thought for a moment, trying to sort things out. “Monster always ran away. I was in the front yard calling for him and Kai said he would help me find him. He said he would de take me in the car and drive around until we find him. I was in first grade then. ”What's your name?" Daichi asked, his voice failing. She almost forgott what she wascalled. She knew She could feel it somewhere in her chest. As if something were on the tip of her tongue. She concentrated. "Yui?" She advised. He bowed his head a little more and leaned forward a little. "What did you say?" "Yui?" She tried again. "Yui?" Asked Daicji. "Do you mean Yui Sato?" ... It felt like she'd touched an electric fence. All of her cells screamed. She quickly slid back on the chair. “You are not allowed to say the name," she whispered. Daichi looked at her carefully. "It's you," he said. She saw faces, pictures, flashes of color. At first she could no longer breathe. And suddenly everything dissolved. "I didn't mean to let Monster out," the words began to bubble out of her. "I opened the door to get something off the porch and he just ran out and then he was gone," She sobbed and lay down her hand over her mouth, "it's all my fault, ”she said through her fingers. 

"Hey, hey, hey, ”said Frank. He looked like he was about to pat her head, but he didn't. "Take it easy," he said. "It's over. It's over now, no one is mad at you for the dog, I promise. It's all good." He took something out of his pocket. "Here," he said, holding it out to her. "I think you lost that." Her father's scrabble stone was in his hand. Yui hesitantly reached for it. good, ”said Daichi. “Take it.” She grabbed the stone and squeezed her hand so tightly that it hurt. Daichi rocked back and forth. "Yui Sato," he said. "Damn it." He stared at her with his mouth open. "You've been gone a long time." Behind him she saw the princess four-poster bed with the pink frills. She was trembling. She couldn't stop. "Is it over?" She asked. Daichi nodded. "The worst part is over, little one." He smiled at her and she knew she should smile back, that she should be happy, but she felt no joy. She felt like she was dead. Kai had said so. Yui is dead, he said. You are Hina now. But Hina was dead now too. And if Yui was dead and Hina was dead, then she was someone new and didn't even have a name. "What happens now?" She asked dazedly. "Now I'll take you home," Daichi replied.


	2. Chapter 1

Ten years later Yui Sato turned the aiming device on her Glock, pointed, and pulled the trigger. The cardboard comrade wobbled. Yui inhaled the satisfying smell of gunpowder and concrete and fired again. And again. Until the magazine was empty. The pistol in her hand barely moved. Yui had learned to shoot with a .22, but she'd been using a .45 since she was fourteen and had been on the range for the first time. At fourteen she had known she wanted something that could do a bigger goal. She put the gun down, pressed the button to bring the target close, and watched as it jerked towards her. Half of the targets you could buy on the firing range looked like zombies now, people really wanted to push zombies all over the place, but Yui drew the old-fashioned black and white picture of a guy with a square chin and a black one Knitted hat in front. The cardboard comrade came to her and she examined her work. The bullets were in the heart, in the groin and in the middle of the forehead. The blush rose in her cheeks with joy. 

For the past seven years she had only been allowed to use guns rented from the range. Now she could finally shoot with her own. Some people went out to party and got drunk when they came of age; Yui had chosen a Glock with a nine-shot magazine and applied for a gun license for concealed use of firearms. The Glock 37 had all the functions of a pistol with an egg. 45 ACP caliber, but a shorter grip. It was a large pistol made for small hands. The sloping slide and the elegant black, the finger grooves and the thumb rest - Yui loved every single millimeter of this pistol. Her finger joints were sore and the blue nail polish was peeling off, but the Glock still looked nice in her hand. She looked away from the gun and listened. It was way too quiet in the shooting range. She felt the hairs on her arms stand up. She put the Glock down again, bowed her head, and tried hard to hear something through her soundproof headphones. The muffled crack of the shots had been pretty constant so far. There were only three other people in the shooting range that morning besides her. Yui had taken notice of all of them. Your martial arts sensei called this "being mindful". Yui called it caution. Now she was listening to the muffled shots around her and trying to make out what had changed. The woman one lane down had stopped shooting. Yui had seen her revolver as the woman walked past her train - a beautiful Beretta Stampede with Nickel paint and a drum for six cartridges. The Stampede was a replica of a revolver from the Wild West. A big revolver. If you shot a car with it, the bullet would pierce the body and split the engine block. It was too big a for this woman. That's why Yui had noticed her in the first place. The woman had fired all six shots, then reloaded, and only fired three times. Yui felt her pulse quicken. Her muscles tensed. The calves twitched. Fight or flee. This is how the therapists explained it. For the first few years since she got home, she'd been overwhelmed by that feeling, and each time she'd just run off in a panic, on foot. Once her mother had found her in a Safeway parking lot five miles away. Her mother and sister had to drag her into the car while she screamed her heart out. Biofeedback. Meditation. Talk therapy. Medical therapy. Scream Therapy. Floating. Yoga. Tai chi. Chinese medicinal herbs. Equestrian therapy. Nothing helped. It was Daichi who suggested that she learn kung fu when she was eleven. The FBI had transferred him to Portland to prepare for her testimony, and he had told her mother that martial arts would make Yui feel more confident and get through the trial more easily. But maybe he also understood that she just felt the need to hit something. After that she had got nothing and nobody in the floating tank. She started doing martial arts, boxing, target shooting, archery, and even knife throwing. Her parents thought she was doing all this to feel more secure, and in some ways they were right. She wanted to guarantee that no one - not even her mother - could ever force her to get into a car. After her father left her, she tried even more: climbing mountaineering, flying lessons - anything to keep her busy. When she felt the twitching in her calves these days, she no longer thought about running away, but about how she had to push her right arm forward to deal with the fleshy one Place between your thumb and forefinger to catch your opponent by the throat. When she saw a cartridge case on the concrete floor, she kicked it with the steel toe of her boot and watched the brass case clang from her cabin. Then she followed. The woman from the train next door stood leaning against the wall with her smartphone in her hand and apparently wrote someone a message. Yui had hidden her hair under the hood of her sweatshirt jacket and put the noise protection headphones over the hood. She wore safety glasses, black jeans, boots, and had the zipper of her jacket closed all the way to the top. In this clothing she could have robbed a bank unrecognized. But this woman? She recognized Yui. And missed any sensitivity. She gasped so hard that her cell phone almost fell from her hand. Yui instinctively turned her face away, quickly picked up the shell, and went back to her cabin. Yui hadn't been a particularly good witness at the trial. She had been summoned four times in the three months that Mel was on trial. They wanted to know from her whether she could remember the other people who had come to see them, other children, what she had seen or heard, where they had traveled. But so much was in the dark in her memory. That's why she'd practiced paying attention to details for the past ten years. She closed her fist around the still warm cartridge and recalled the image of the woman. She was in her mid-fifties and lavishly groomed. By nine o'clock in the morning she was completely made up, and the black hair that fell over her pink soundproof headphones was perfectly styled, which must have cost her at least a quarter of an hour in front of the mirror. Yui dropped the used cartridge into the plastic pail with the rest of its empty shell cases. The woman was in the shooting range at 9:00 am on a Tuesday, so she couldn't have a normal office job. No wedding ring. Some people took off the wedding ring to shoot, but Yui suspected the woman didn't know. Yui looked across the open lanes, but she couldn't see the woman's target. A middle-aged woman started shooting after a violent crime, or a divorce, or some similar episode in order to defend herself. She wasn't here for Yui. She had tripped over them. And now she wrote a message ... to whom? Judging by the hairstyle and makeup, she could be a television reporter. Yui didn't recognize her, but Yui's interest in the news was also very limited. 

Yui took the empty magazine out of the Glock and reloaded nine .45 rounds. The tenth anniversary of their liberation was imminent. Before the anniversaries, she was always haunted by reporters. Where was she now How did she get along? Her mother was probably squinting for her next gig on Morning America. Yui took her backpack, tucked the Glock in the sweatshirt pocket and left, looking down on the floor. She wouldn't run. Even with her head bowed, Yui could see that the woman was still there. She had put Yui in the middle of the path. She said something, but Yui just tapped her headset and wanted to walk around her. The woman stood in her way again, but Yui was quite agile and squeezed between her and the wall. The woman didn't give up. She could feel Yui just a few steps behind her. When Yui opened the glass door that led from the shooting range into the vestibule with the gun shop, the woman also slipped through before the door could shut. Yui turned to her. "What is it?" She asked impatiently. She could have crushed the woman's larynx, knocked out her teeth and broken her jaw with a front kick in the chin. The woman smiled brightly and said something Yui couldn't hear. Yui took off the headphones. The woman did the same. Yui grabbed the Glock tighter in her pocket. "I just wanted to say ..." the woman began. She pressed that Lips together and her eyes filled with tears. "We're all so glad you came home." Yui let go of the gun. The woman wore a gold chain with four jewels around her neck and was nervously fingering it. Four jewels - one for each of your four children. The woman was the same age as Yui's mother, so she probably had young children Yui's age when she disappeared. The woman wasn't a reporter. She was a mother. Showcases filled with weapons lined the walls of the shop. Above that were the targets: a woman with a beret and an AK-47, zombies, a man with a knitted hat and a sack full of money. "I prayed for you," said the woman. The ex-cop behind the counter looked up from his magazine for a moment and then read on. A lot of people had told Yui that they had prayed for them. As if they wanted some kind of recognition for their work. Yui never knew how to react to that. Then did God not listen for the first five years? "Thank you," she muttered. The woman put a hand on her shoulder and Yui winced. People always wanted to touch her, especially mothers. "There was a reason you were saved," the woman said, and Yui groaned inwardly. She knew the reason. An investigation into child pornography trafficking revealed Kai's IP address. According to Daichi, the whole action was pretty bungled at the time. The FBI still had didn't even know she was there. It was just luck that she had been saved. There was no other reason. “If you ask me,” the woman continued, “that bastard deserves it. Let the devil get him." "Sorry," Yui said politely. "I have to buy another stun gun." She freed herself and backed away a little. "We thought you were all dead," the woman called. With glassy eyes she looked at Yui reverently, as if the face of Jesus had just appeared on her toast. From the wall behind her, the bank robber aimed his gun at her back. "It was like a resurrection," announced the woman, beaming. She pointed up at the wood-paneled ceiling of the gun shop. "There is a plan for you," she added. Her tongue stuck out a little between her lips, just the little pink tip. If Yui hit the woman under the chin now, she would bite off the tip of her tongue. The woman took a step behind Yui. "Trust yourself, Yui," she said. "Time heals all wounds." 

"Your gun is too big," said Yui. “She's got too much recoil, that's why you're not hitting. Start with something smaller, with a .22. And aim for the head. ”The woman scratched the corner of her mouth lightly. “Thank you.” For a moment they looked at each other in silence. Yui's need to run away was stronger than it had been in a long time. "I have to pee," she said, nodding her head towards the toilet. The woman let her go. Yui rushed through the door and locked the door behind her. The outline of her Glock was visible under the fabric of the sweatshirt jacket. Yui had red dots on her forehead and cheek. She took off the hood and looked at her reflection. People knew her face from the missing people's posters. Her photo was first grade, with bangs and braids and a fake smile. She'd been really famous in her absence - she'd been featured on billboards, on the news, and featured on talk shows and newspapers. It had adorned the covers of various magazines. The first photo after their liberation could then be seen everywhere. But she was no longer the girl people remembered, eleven years old, with an angry expression and long, shaggy hair. Yui's mother had cut her bangs and braided her hair back then, and then the family put out another photo: Yui reunited with her sister, arm in arm. The photo made the front cover of People. From then on, her mother had sold new photos every anniversary until Yui moved out of the house. According to her mother, they owed it to the public to let them know how Yui grew up. Yui turned on the cold water, pushed up her sleeves and washed her hands. Ammunition left a lead residue everywhere. She let the water run into her hands, leaned forward, and wet her face. When she was dried off, she looked at her reflection again. She pulled her hair from her ponytail and let it fall over her shoulders. Yui didn't cut her hair. Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out with clammy fingers. She read the message three times. Her stomach tightened. An AMBER alert had just been triggered by the Washington State Police looking for a five-year-old girl kidnapped and last seen in a white SUV with Washington State license plates on Interstate 5 towards Oregon. Yui hesitated. She knew how that was going to work. But she couldn't help it. She opened the police radio app, picked up the backpack from the floor and went to the door. The Glock was still loaded in the sweatshirt pocket. Whenever they had traveled, Kai had always hidden them under a blanket in the footwell in front of the back seat and exchanged their license plates for fake license plates. The license plates were usually more difficult to read and contained little information, so that patrol officers often did not bother to check them. It wasn't at all that she thought she could find the car. It was something none of their therapists ever once understood. Yui knew exactly how useless it was. But she also knew she would drive up and down the interstate until she couldn't go on, and then spend half the night updating her browser and looking at every single detail, hoping to head for something encounter what sounded familiar. She knew the child was probably already dead, and that when the police found the body it would feel like a part of Yui had died too.  
  
That's how it went, that's how it always went.

Atonement shouldn't be fun, after all.


End file.
